


The Winner's Penance

by Montana



Category: The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post The Winner's Crime, Rescue, Romance, The Winner's Crime, The Winner's Curse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Montana/pseuds/Montana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in The Winner's Crime. Arin receives word about Kestrel's capture and decides to save her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winner's Penance

TIME SEEMED TO SLOW AS HE MADE his way down the row of cells, checking each one and still not locating the Valorian prisoner in question. He had been sure on his intel, hadn't he? Or was Arin simply seeing what he wanted to see? He had practically fed Kestrel's description to the messenger who carried the moth carcass from the capital to his home in Herran. But the guard upstairs had admitted to a Valorian lady in custody with only a little prompting on Arin's part. He was glad to have killed the man in case he was lying.

Despite the heat that radiated from the torch he held out in front of him, he could see the wispy clouds of his breath billowing from between his chattering teeth. The stench was getting to him as well. It reminded him too well of the auction house, where slaves were kept in close quarters without a proper way to dispose of their waste.

Still he searched each cell one after the other until he came to the last one. Extending his lit torch towards the cell bars, there was only a small mound of straw inside. He nearly turned away in anger and disappointment when he saw the straw move ever so slightly. He froze, staring at the straw.

"Kestrel?"

From the mound of straw reached a hand, a hand he would recognize anywhere. He watched it play the piano for hours on end and therefore had memorized every inch of it.

He sprang into action. Numb fingers fumbled for the keys to open the cell door. It took him a few attempts to get the key into the lock; shaking from the cold or some unnamed energy surging through his body, he did not know.

With the door finally open, he tore into the cell like a madman. Grabbing Kestrel's hand, he meant to tear her from the straw until a moan escaped her. She could be hurt, he reasoned. Still holding the torch in his other hand he had to let go of hers to brush the straw away and expose her face. She squinted at the firelight. He moved the fire away but not before he'd gotten a good look at her.

Arin expected the dirt and grime to be there after spending so many weeks in prison. What he did not expect was how thin she felt when he snaked his arm around her waist. She weighed almost nothing as he lifted her from the ground.

The rest of the straw fell away to reveal the tatters of her clothing, a torn shift that she likely had worn beneath the blue dress he had seen her in just before she was taken prisoner by the emperor and sent to the prison.

With the torch in one hand and Kestrel nestled in his other arm, he would be unable to access the various weapons hidden on his person. He couldn't rely on her to help defend herself if the need arose. If the god of luck favored him at all, then his path would remain clear as they exited the prison. He knew not to waste anymore time and moved to flee the cell.

She was slack against him. It made the passage back through the hallway which he'd come a very difficult one. However, once he was up the stairs he placed the torch in the empty sconce on the wall from where he'd originally taken it. He was then able to adjust Kestrel in both of his arms, carrying her as easily as he would a small child.

Arin stepped over a body; the body of the guard he had slain. In that moment, he regretted killing the man, for he had spoken true. But it was either kill or be killed and Arin had chosen to kill for the chance to rescue Kestrel. He looked down at her to see her seemingly unconscious in his arms. She was weak no doubt from lack of food. She was too covered in dirt and grime to tell if she had sustained any external abuse.

The passage through the prison had been secure. The Herrani men he'd brought with him had done their part. He would have to reward them for their services; strong Herrani were not easy to find these days. Many had still yet to recover fully from the poisoned water and those who had had gone south under his request. He would have to dig up more family heirlooms to pay these men, but nothing too expensive. For the Herrani, loyalty could not be bought, it had to be earned.

One of the men waited with Javelin, Kestrel's horse that Arin had acquired for himself during the revolt. Arin positioned Kestrel in the saddle and then climbed up behind her. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped it around her and then pulled her close to him, hoping some of his own warmth would seep into her. He held her around the waist. She remained motionless against him.

The journey home would not be easy but it would have to be fast if he had any hope of their survival. He did not wait for his companions to finish mounting their own horses. Instead, he dug his heels into Javelin's sides and the horse bolted.


End file.
